"Dr. Strangelove" is the blackest of dark comedies. It makes second place look kind of  pinkish-beige.

I've never seen a film cooler in its detachment, more nonchalant in its audacious inhumanity. Stanley Kubrick stared the eminent Cold War paranoia in the face and delivered a stout, brass-knuckled hook below the belt.

 The film was adapted from the Peter George novel, "Red Alert," one back cover of which reads:  "An account of the first two hours of World War III."

George's novel was not a comedy, but Kubrick saw in it what we could not – the absurdity of the world's collective fear. Though "Dr. Strangelove" was made at the height of the Soviet Arms Race, its theme is so simple that today, given a new slate of absurd tragedies, the film remains fresh.

Kubrick was a director who showed us as little as possible, so as not to impose on our experience. Even as his films grew in scope, he retained the confidence to show only what was necessary.

That trend is most evident here, in a film that exists entirely in four locations: the office of a deranged general, the perimeter of an Air Force base, the cramped interior of a B-52 bomber and the War Room of the Pentagon.

The film is all words and faces, and is no less effective for being entirely stifled in its perspective.

As I've said, the story is simple enough:

Gen. Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden), afraid the Russians have been poisoning America's water supply with fluoride (a factual fear of the 1950's), orders a fleet of B-52 Bombers circling Russia with 14,000 megatons of nuclear weaponry to carry out an irreversible order to attack. 

Word of the order reaches the War Room at the Pentagon, where President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers) tries desperately to reach Ripper and obtain a three letter recall code to cancel the attack. 

When he can't, he must call the Russian Premier Dmitri Kissoff to warn him of the mistake.

The Russian Ambassador (Peter Bull) then informs President Muffley of Russia's secret weapon, the dreaded Doomsday Device, a machine that will bring about an end to humanity if Russia is ever attacked or anyone tries to deactivate it. 

Meanwhile, one of the Bombers over Russia, manned by Maj. T.J. "King" Kong (Slim Pickens), barrels toward its drop point with a damaged radio that cannot receive a recall code, should one ever be issued.

Lurking in the shadows is the bizarre Dr. Strangelove (also Sellers), the German nuclear physicist whose ideas of nuclear fallout shelters (10 females to each male, as we must breed prodigiously to regenerate our numbers) become less and less asinine as the chaos surrounding him becomes more prominent. 

His right hand in its black glove remains loyal to the Nazi party, and his assertive dissertation at the end suggests something sinister.

Despite sensitive subject matter, Kubrick's "Dr. Strangelove" has survived as one of the greatest comedies of all time. It is notable not simply for being a great film, but for several of its details. 

Sellers cemented his legend with his iconic triple role as Col. Mandrake, President Muffley and Dr. Strangelove (he had originally been cast as Maj. "King" Kong, but couldn't master the Southern accent). 

George C. Scott gives one of his finest performances. Finally, there is that infamous shot with Maj. Kong and a nuclear bomb.

In the world of political satire, "Dr. Strangelove" is the pinnacle by which all others are measured. It is in the top tier of Kubrick's long list of masterpieces, alongside "2001: A Space Odyssey" and "Paths of Glory." 

Like so many of his other films, Kubrick reinvented a genre.

"Dr. Strangelove" is a fearless film – one that scoffs at what was at the time a significant threat to national security, and does so with an unrivaled comic energy. 

Imagine that: a fearless film mocking fear. That's not the primary joke here, but one has to admit it is strangely appropriate.

Rollan Schott is a junior English major. Reach him at [email protected].